The general spread his hands helplessly. “We took every precaution we could, sir. We’re checking now to see how they could have smuggled prussic acid into—”
“I don’t give a shit how they did it! Colfax is dead!”
The man from the Treasury Department spoke up. “How much does Colfax’s death hurt us?”
“A hell of a lot,” Di Silva replied. “Putting a man on a witness stand is one thing. Showing a lot of ledgers and accounts is something else. You can bet your ass that some smart attorney’s going to start talking about how those books could have been faked.”
“Where do we go from here?” a man from the Treasury Department asked.
The District Attorney replied, “We keep doing what we’re doing. Jennifer Parker’s on her way back from Singapore. We have enough to put her away forever. While she’s going down, we’re going to get her to pull Michael Moretti down with her.” He turned to Adam. “Don’t you agree, Senator?”
Adam felt ill. “Excuse me.”
He quickly left the room.
61
The signalman on the ground, wearing oversized earmuffs, waved his two semaphores, guiding the jumbo 747 toward the waiting ramp. The plane pulled up to a fixed circle and, at a signal, the pilot cut the four Pratt & Whitney turbofan engines.
Inside the giant plane a steward’s voice came over the loudspeaker, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have just landed at New York’s Kennedy Airport. We thank you for flying TWA. Will all passengers please remain in their seats until a further announcement. Thank you.”
There were general murmurs of protest. A moment later the doors were opened by the ramp crew. The two FBI agents seated with Jennifer in the front of the plane rose to their feet.
One of them turned to Jennifer and said, “Let’s go.”
The passengers watched with curiosity as the three people left the plane. A few minutes later the steward’s voice came over the loudspeaker again. “Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. You may now disembark.”
A government limousine was waiting at a side entrance to the airport. The first stop was the Metropolitan Correctional Center at 150 Park Row, that connected into the United States Court House at Foley Square.
After Jennifer had been booked, one of the FBI men said, “Sorry, we can’t keep you here. We have orders to take you out to Riker’s Island.”
The ride to Riker’s Island was made in silence. Jennifer sat in the back seat between the two FBI men, saying nothing, but her mind was busy. The two men had been uncommunicative during the entire trip across the ocean, so Jennifer had no way of knowing how much trouble she was in. She knew that it was serious, for it was not easy to obtain a warrant of extradition.
She could do nothing to help herself while she was in jail. Her first priority was to get out on bail.
They were crossing the bridge to Riker’s Island now, and Jennifer looked out at the familiar view, a view she had seen a hundred times on the way to talk to clients. And now she was a prisoner.
But not for long, Jennifer thought. Michael will get me out.
The two FBI men escorted Jennifer into the reception building and one of the men handed the guard the extradition warrant.
“Jennifer Parker.”
The guard glanced at it. “We’ve been expecting you, Miss Parker. You have a reservation in Detention Cell Three.”
“I have the right to one phone call.”
The guard nodded toward the telephone on his desk. “Sure.”
Jennifer picked it up, silently praying that Michael Moretti was in. She began to dial.
Michael Moretti had been waiting for Jennifer’s call. For the last twenty-four hours he had been able to think of nothing else. He had been informed when Jennifer had landed in London, when her plane had left Heathrow, and when she had arrived back in New York. He had sat at his desk, mentally tracking Jennifer on her way to Riker’s Island. He had visualized her entering the prison. She would demand to make a phone call before they put her in a cell. She would call him. That was all he asked. He would have her out of there in an hour, and then she would be on her way to him. Michael Moretti was living for the moment when Jennifer Parker walked through the door.
Jennifer had done the unforgivable. She had given her body to the man who was trying to destroy him. And what else had she given him? What secrets had she told him?
Adam Warner was the father of Jennifer’s son. Michael was certain of that now. Jennifer had lied to him from the beginning, had told him that Joshua’s father was dead. Well, that was a prophecy that will soon be fulfilled, Michael told himself. He was caught in an ironic conflict. On the one hand, he had a powerful weapon he could use to discredit and destroy Adam Warner. He could blackmail Warner with the threat of exposing his relationship with Jennifer; but if he did that, he would be exposing himself. When the Families learned—and they would learn—that Michael’s woman was the mistress of the head of the Senate Investigating Committee, Michael would become a laughingstock. He would no longer be able to hold up his head or command his men. A cuckold was not fit to be a don. So the blackmail threat was a double-edged sword and, as tempting as it was, Michael knew that he dare not use it. He would have to destroy his enemies in another way.
Michael looked at the small, crudely drawn map on the desk in front of him. It was Adam Warner’s route to where he was going to attend a private fund-raising dinner party that evening. The map had cost Michael Moretti five thousand dollars. It was going to cost Adam Warner his life.
The telephone rang on Michael’s desk and he involuntarily started. He picked it up and heard Jennifer’s voice on the other end. That voice that had whispered endearments into his ear, that had begged him to make love to her, that—